Page 8 of Sloth
First the heat today, then the name. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think this was Sloan’s version of foreplay. But he did know better, and she hated his guts. This was animosity.
Hoisting his duffel bag over his shoulder, he stepped into the secret underground headquarters of the Deadly Seven. The first time he’d seen the place, he’d been blown away. Years ago, when Sloan had told him what she did in her spare time, he’d never imagined the magnitude of the operation. Well funded, well planned, and well run. Grateful for the opportunity to help in any capacity, he didn’t even care if that meant being a glorified babysitter for their public identities. At least he was being useful and not waiting for red tape to clear before making a difference, however small. By protecting the identity of the real heroes, he could save lives that counted.
Raised voices came from the operations room, getting louder as he approached. He passed the med room, weapon’s room, gym, and a few other closed doors before arriving at the big open space that consisted of the communications room and conjoined workshop.
“Yeah, but I told you it’s a closed loop network.” His chest tightened at the sound of Sloan’s familiar voice. “We can’t get access unless we’re inside the building, logging into a hard-wired computer. And even then we’d have some hardcore encryption passwords and biometric authorizations.”
A few of the Lazarus clan stood around the central operations table, watching over Sloan’s shoulder to her laptop screen. As he stored his duffel bag next to a wall, he counted heads. Seven in total. Evan noticed Max first and broke away from the group, sauntering over.
“Yo, bud.” He gave Max a fist bump. “How’s the tatt doing?”
When Max had arrived in town, and Evan had discovered his virgin skin, he’d busted his balls to get Max down to his tattoo shop. The man was covered in full sleeves himself, so when he’d prompted the issue, Max felt like he couldn’t say no. The man could also fry Max where he stood, with self-made electricity. Sometimes Max was sure he could see lightning gathering in the man’s green eyes.
Scary as fuck.
“Yeah, it’s good, mate.” To prove it, he showed Evan the inside of his forearm where the man had inked the nightingale bird and a stunning freehand geometric black line design around the two dates Max had asked for.
“What’shedoing here?” Sloan’s voice cut through the room with a razor’s edge.
She sounded different in real life. Over the internet, her voice had a tight, tinny quality, but standing a few yards from her, it held a warm, smooth timbre—even when she was pissed.
All heads swiveled his way. The room became exponentially crowded.
“He’s here because I asked him to come.” Parker, the eldest and largest, broke away from the group. Long auburn hair brushed past his collar. The bloke was at least a head taller than anyone else in the room, and when he came to stand next to Max, it was hard not to be intimidated. When he’d first met Parker, he imagined, not a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but a wolf dressed in a tuxedo, with a cane and monocle. He looked like a smart, rich male, but if you spent too long staring into his amber eyes, there was something wild and daunting staring back at you. Good thing he was a friend.
Parker shook Max’s hand with a firm grip and then shot his sister a bold look. “I’m not the one who slipped our secret to him. I’m just the one capitalizing on the opportunity. Max is an intelligence-gathering specialist. We can use him.”
Sloan mumbled something under her breath.
“What’s that?” Max asked, his voice coming out scratchier than he intended.
“I said, you’re a specialist asshole, so gatherthatintelligence.”
Someone laughed—Liza, the detective.
Mary slapped Sloan on the head, mumbling for hermijato have respect, then she gave her other daughter daggers for laughing. Mary was a fit, black-haired woman in her fifties with death in her eyes. Her husband Flint had balls of steel to sleep next to her every night. The man, also in his fifties, worked in the workshop behind her, a half-interested eye on his wife’s reprimand to their daughters. He adjusted his spectacles and swung his ball cap around to face backwards before refocusing on the tiny mechanical object on his cluttered bench.
Max drew his attention back to Sloan. It had been hard to retaliate when he’d first arrived in Cardinal City. She’d been a mess. Ratty black hair. Clothes hung off her bony hips. He’d actually felt sorry for her. But over the past few weeks, the color had returned to her cheeks, and mischief had returned to her eyes. She’d put on weight and looked healthy. She’d once been his only link to the civilian world, and he’d immersed himself in her uplifting presence to help deal with the aftershocks of battle. He’d had no idea she’d been using him for the same reason until she’d confessed about the Deadly Seven.
She was the woman he fell in love with all those years ago. And now she hated him.
Yeah. Definitely not friends.
Max caught Sloan’s older brother Wyatt watching him with the same wariness. Not friends with him either. They used to be once, but the man had changed since his stint in the army. The quick to anger warrior had become invulnerable—literally. Max did not want to get on his bad side.
Max folded his arms and turned to Sloan. “How would you know what I’m a specialist in unless you looked me up? I’m flattered.”
“You wish.”
“Why would I wish? You already did it.”
A berry stain hit her cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t.” Hell yeah, she did. The guilt was all over her face. A satisfied swell bloomed in his chest.
“Oh, get a room already.” Liza moaned. The tall brunette rolled her eyes, but slammed a deadpan look on when confronted with Sloan’s raging intent. “Ugh. Can we get back to the task at hand? Some of us actually have a real job here and some dickhead’s been leaving bodies in the river. Captain’s asked for me to go canvas.”
“You need help?” Evan perked up.
