Page 18 of Assassin's Game
Nix —
I slammed through the thick steel door of the warehouse Rhys had found to serve as our base of operations for the time being, my suit jacket coming off with the first step inside. The cool air brushing over my bare arms and cleavage did little to cool the anger churning inside me—at myself or the situation or both, I refused to decide. I only knew we needed—Ineeded—to get a handle on it all, now. Immediately.
Monty and Titus had other priorities. I shot them a glare as they followed me in. “Stop your damn whining!”
“We’re fucked, Nix,” Titus said. “Admit it.”
“Speak for yourself,” Monty grumbled.
Rhys stalked in, bringing up the rear and shutting the steel door behind him. “Let’s not talk about your sex lives, boys.”
“Who’s talking sex?” Titus glared right back at me. “I’m talking about tacos.”
Maris entered the room from a back doorway leading to the kitchen area, mop in hand. Guilt added to the emotions eating me up, sharpening my tone. “I told you to wait on that.” There were five of us staying here; five of us could clean up the damn place.
Maris shrugged. “Needed something to do while I waited on you all.”
I kicked off one shoe, then the other as Monty and Titus continued to gripe behind me. This was the problem with not having formal command structure backed by the might of the US military—these idiots could get away with anything. I did my best to tune them out while I stripped the thigh-highs from my legs and dropped them onto the pile I was making. When that didn’t work, I jerked around, glaring the two men down.
“Get your asses over to that computer and get that fucking camera hooked up.” I jerked my chin toward the computer area in the corner of the room that had been set up this morning.
With one last resentful look, Titus slunk cross the room. The man had been stationed at the door of the restaurant, and as such had been given a small pocket camera and strict instructions to photograph every man, woman, and child going through those doors. The little black box he was pulling from his pocket could be the key to finding out who Suit Guy was.
Monty headed the opposite direction, carrying brown paper sacks full of food toward the card table we’d set up for eating. “I told you not to remind her about the camera until after we’d eaten,” he threw over his shoulder toward Titus.
I scoffed. “I didn’t need a reminder, dickhead. I need to see those pictures.”
Monty ignored me and my bitchy tone and began doling out the food on paper plates for him, Maris, and Titus. The paper-wrapped tacos held very little appeal after the cheesy chicken parmigiana I’d indulged in at the restaurant. Italian was a particular weakness of mine; that and McDonald’s. Yes, my taste buds were bipolar.
The men had shed jackets and ties and uncomfortably formal shoes as quickly as I had, leaving piles around the room. Maris headed for the pile closest to the table, Rhys’s pile, and made a move to gather up the clothes there. I opened my mouth to stop her. She wasn’t our maid, for fuck’s sake, no matter what she thought.
“Leave it,” Rhys snapped.
Maris jerked her hand back from his suit coat. Hurt gathered in her eyes, quickly shuttered as she turned away. Not wanting to draw attention to her—and possibly hurt her more—I beelined toward Rhys and lowered my voice to a level that told him I was dead serious. “Don’t push your luck.”
Hypocrite.As if I hadn’t already snapped at her since we got home. We were all wired after the fuckup at the restaurant.
Rhys’s gaze dropped to the floor, conceding…for the moment. He was getting far too free with his disapproval lately. He needed to neuter that shit before I took care of it for him.
From the computer I heard the beep signaling the camera’s download process. Knowing it would take a minute, I followed Maris into the kitchen. Shoulders slumped, she stood over the sink, the mop she’d held earlier under the running water. “Maris?”
Immediately the shoulders straightened. “Did you need something?”
My heart squeezed. Did my sister think her only value to me was as a servant?
“No, I didn’t,” I said, moving closer. “I wanted to thank you for cleaning up while we were gone. You didn’t have to, but I appreciate it.”
Green eyes met mine over her shoulder; then Maris turned back to the sink to wring out the mop. “It’s what I’m here for.”
“No, it’s not.” Tugging on her shoulder, I forced Maris to face me and plopped a dry towel into her wet hands. “Your job is not to take care of us. I love that about you, don’t get me wrong. I love where your heart is. But it’s not required.”
“I know.” She gave me a pathetic attempt at a smile. “I want to take care of things. It’s not like I’m any good at fighting.”
Maris could hold her own in any dojo she walked into. Just because she was comparing herself to elite soldiers didn’t mean she wasn’t a good fighter.
When I said as much, she shrugged. “I shouldn’t let it bother me.” Though it clearly did. Maris placed the towel over the edge of the sink, smoothed it down. “I’m just not like you; I don’t have the emotional armor you do.”
I wanted to hug her, make the ache she was obviously feeling go away. “You don’t have to.”
