Page 64 of Heroes & Hitmen
“Fuck yeah I would,” Jordan huffs, not even needing to consider. “There’s nothing for me here. If you’re going, I wantin. Sibling solidarity, right?”
“Right,” I say, a genuine smile curving my lips. “I’ll talk to Ares. But honestly, this is… I’d rather do this with you than all alone.”
The two of us roll up our mats side by side, both giddy with the prospect of new possibilities. For the first time in forever, the future doesn’t look like a prison sentence. It looks like an open road, the city shrinking behind us as we drive away.
“Where would we even go?” Jordan asks, slinging her mat under her arm as we head for the door.
“Colorado,” I answer. “Ares said his pack would take us in, his brother’s Alpha. He promised good people, decent coffee, and no arranged matings. Beyond that, I’m not sure what it’ll be like.”
“You know what, I don’t even care,” Jordan laughs. “I’m still in.”
I loop my arm through hers, the two of us giggling like we’re fifteen again and plotting to sneak out of the Tower. Except this time, it’s for real. This time, there’s no one to stop us but ourselves.
As we step out of the yoga studio into the sunlight, squinting against the glare, I feel lighter than I have in a long time. There’s still more to work out, and the odds are against us, but for once, the idea of running isn’t about what I’m leaving behind.
It’s about what’s waiting for us out there.
CHAPTER 21
Ares
When I first started planning mymove to Chicago, I looked forward to the city’s thriving nightlife. I pictured weekends full of reckless fun– Friday nights spent sinking shots, chasing tail, and staying out till sunrise. The same kind of chaos I thrived on back home, just amplified.
Instead, I’m parked on the couch alone, nursing a lukewarm beer while the glow of the TV flickers across the room.Hell of a party.
Not that I’m complaining about finally getting some downtime. The last few days have been a blur of tedious jobs that feel like they were designed to bore me to death, so I’ll gladly take a Friday night in over running around the city doing Alpha Gage’s bitch work. But after a few hours of binging episodes ofNaked and Afraidand cranking through leftover pizza, boredom still manages to find me.
I’ve never been good at sitting still. I’m wired for action, for connection, for noise.
This apartment’s too damn quiet. Miley’s been barricaded in the bedroom for hours under the guise of studying, but I’m pretty sure avoiding me has also become her favorite hobby.
I glance toward the clock– which is aggressively ticking toward eleven– and consider leaving her alone. She probably has to study a lot to maintain the perfect grade point average she brags about. Except it’sFriday night, dammit, and there’s far better ways we could be spending it than in separate rooms of a too-quiet apartment.
It takes me all of two minutes to come up with an excuse to barge in on her study session. Even less time to push up from the couch, make a pit stop in the kitchen, and head for the bedroom. There’s a faint glow under the door at the end of the hallway, the sliver of light perfectly slicing through the darkness. I approach and knock once, loud enough to startle, not bothering to wait for her to answer before pushing it open.
Miley’s exactly where I expect to find her– sprawled on her stomach in the center of the massive bed with a minefield of books, highlighters, and note cards spread around her. She’s wearing a little pair of lounge shorts and a slouchy tee, dark blonde hair scraped back in a messy bun. She doesn’t look up when I enter, just huffs out an annoyed breath as she highlights a line of text in the book spread open in front of her.
“Door was closed for a reason, you know,” she grumbles.
“Not anymore,” I reply, tucking my hands behind my back as I lean a shoulder against the frame.
She sighs, caps her highlighter, and reluctantly glances over her shoulder in my direction. “If you’re going to hover, at least make yourself useful and bring refreshments.”
“Way ahead of you, babe.” I flash a grin as I reveal a six-pack of beer from behind my back like it’s a magic trick. “Thought you could use a study break. Throw some shoes on, let’s take a walk to the beach.”
Her eyes flicker between me and the beer a couple times, the look in them judgmental but also tempted. Then she shakes her head, spouting off an excuse.
“Can’t. I have a test on Monday.”
“And studying too long without a break leads to poor memory retention and irritability,” I counter. “It’s science.”
“Pretty sure cheap beer kills brain cells, not boosts them,” she scoffs, wrinkling her nose in distaste as she eyes the six-pack in my grip.
Good thing I came prepared.Bringing my other hand out from behind my back, I reveal my next trick: a bottle of wine that I picked up from the corner bodega.
“For the refined scholar,” I say, tipping the bottle back and forth tauntingly. “C’mon, babe. A little fresh air and moonlight will do wonders for your mental clarity.”
She snorts in derision, but I catch the shift in her expression thatsays she’s actually considering it. Her head tilts, teeth catching her lower lip, and I clock the exact moment intrigue wins out over discipline. With the flick of a wrist, she snaps her textbook closed and pushes herself up.
