Page 3 of Assassin's Game
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Chapter Two
Nix —
“So fucking glorious.”
I took a deep breath, sucking back the scent of deep-fried everything, and had to agree with Titus: it was so fucking glorious. McDonald’s had restaurants all over the world—and we’d been to many of them—but they didn’t taste like American McDonald’s. They didn’t smell like this, somehow. It might be because it was what I’d grown up with and not an actual difference, but McDonald’s in the US was just...different. Better.
Glorious.
Not that I’d say it out loud. Titus Webster used words likeglorious; I didn’t. Titus could get away with it. The thirty-six-year-old former soldier got away with a lot, with his long golden-brown hair, tattooed body, and laid-back surfer vibe. A thirty-eight-year-old woman with gray in her long black hair and worn army fatigues on her compact body just got odd looks when she said fancy shit like that.
Or maybe it was just my team that gave me odd looks when I said fancy shit. Not like I spent much time with anyone else.
The area in front of the cash registers held several lines. I joined one right behind a guy about my height who gave me a once-over and a wink before facing forward. I rolled my eyes and tried to ignore Titus’s snicker beside me.
“I think he’s available,” Titus whispered in my ear, ignoring me ignoring him. “What do you think?”
I glanced from the shiny pink bald spot on the crown of the guy’s head to the end of his left arm hanging at his side. “I think he’s not as available as he wants to let on.” A thick gold ring circled his ring finger. Pretty dinged up. Married awhile, then. Guess he was in the market to shake things up a bit.
The thought made me wish I was carrying right about now. Not that I needed a gun to make someone rethink their decisions.
“I think traveling all day has made you cranky.”
I tipped my head up to raise an eyebrow at Titus. “Doesn’t it always?”
“Yep.” He grinned, showing off perfectly straight, gleaming white teeth. How could we have crawled off a fifteen-hour flight into evening rush-hour traffic, spent several hours getting our team supplied and settled, and he still looked fresh as a daisy? His long hair was even neatly curling around his shoulders.
I threw my thick braid back over my own shoulder as we moved forward in line. I felt grungy, grumpy, and desperate to hole up somewhere and sleep for twenty-four hours. But not before we got our McDonald’s fix. “Feed me and I won’t bite your head off.”
He shot me a cocky salute. “That’s the plan, ma’am.”
Titus was the only person I allowed to call mema’am, maybe because, like every other person on the planet, I was willing to forgo a lot of irritation when his vibe hit me. Relaxed me. Being in his proximity was like getting a contact high. Maybe that was why we paired well together—I was the uptight one, and he leveled me out in a way none of the others could.
The sound of a suddenly raised voice in front of us definitely wasn’t helping. I tensed as the guy two steps ahead of me in line, Mr. Wedding Ring Winker, planted his fists on the counter and leaned forward, right into the server’s face. “Look. I just want to get my food and go. If you can’t make that happen, find someone who can.”
The server, a young blonde with her hair in a ponytail, looking closer to twelve than the sixteen she probably was, blanched. From the wild look in her eyes, she definitely wished she could ask someone to take her place too.
Asshole.
“Sir,” she stammered, easing back from his blatant attempt to intimidate her, “you asked for six fries and four quarter-pounders. Four coffees. That’s what you were charged for.”
“What idiot would order more fries than burgers? They don’t match! You need to clean out your ears so you can actually hear what customers are ordering, then call your manager over here so we can make your incompetence clear. And fix your mistake!”
“I’ll issue a refund for—”
“Is that what I asked for?” he shouted, making the poor girl jump. The overhead lights gleamed off his bald spot, and I wondered suddenly if his slowly dwindling testosterone was responsible for making him a dickhead. It was one thing to be an asshole at home, but to take it out in public and flash it around like an exhibitionist flashing his naked penis at unsuspecting bystanders?
It was two fries, for fuck’s sake.
I dug into my pants pocket, looking for a bill to hand over and put us all out of our misery.
As I peered over Winker’s shoulder, I saw a tear trickle from the server’s eye and track down her pale cheek. “I—”
“Manager!” the asshole yelled. “Now, bitch!”
I didn’t stop to think. My palm landed on Winker’s shoulder before the last word left his mouth. Thumb and finger dug into the nerves where his neck and shoulder met. The asshole winced, lurching sideways with a strained grunt, allowing me to step up beside him and give the server a sympathetic look. “How about I help this gentleman move on while you take care of that refund?”
