Page 60 of The Wild Moon
Aaron stared at me, a mix of irritation and resignation. “I should have asked for more money.”
I snorted. “Are you going to introduce me? I know Jaxton there, but what about the rest of your merry band of misfits?”
“Hey,” one of the others said, a grin plastered on his face. “I resent that remark.”
“That would be Dave,” Aaron said. “He’s our tech guy.”
Dave was tall, though I didn’t think he could quite look Aaron in the eyes. He had the look of someone who had once been extremely fit, but now the muscle was covered in a layer of fat. Bald, with thin eyebrows and a lopsided grin, I immediately pegged him as the funny one of the group. Easygoing and able to poke fun, I felt we would get along best. He nodded, and I smiled.
“You know Jaxton, our quartermaster.”
“And not too shabby in a fight,” I said.
Jaxton dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“Alexi is our tracker.”
I focused on the next member of the team. Average height, blond hair–though not as brilliant as Aaron’s–pale blue eyes, and a wide, blocky face that spoke of Nordic lineage, or perhaps northern Slavic, based on the name. I wasn’t sure. He met my eyes, then looked away. That was all the greeting I was getting, apparently. A real charmer, that one.
“Pieter here is our chef,” Aaron continued, moving on. “And an expert driver.”
The smallest of the group, Pieter was a scrawny little thing even shorter than me with curly hair sticking out from under a green beret hat. I almost wrote him off as the least dangerous member of the group.
Until I saw his eyes. Tiny dots of brown, they focused on me with uncanny intensity. Something told me I shouldn’t look away, not at first. This man wasn’t entirely stable. I held the gaze.Take a good look, buddy. Trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to mess with me.
Eventually, Pieter nodded, apparently satisfied with what he’d seen. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but that was fine.
“And him?” I asked, nodding at the sixth and final member of the team. “Who’s he?”
The unnamed member had his back turned to me. He was leaning against the upright support of the lift.
“That’s Fred,” Aaron said dismissively.
Fred didn’t turn around.
“And what does Fred do?” I asked.
“Fred’s a labor grunt,” Aaron said as if that’s all that was necessary.
I looked at Aaron, then at Fred. He was taller than Aaron, broader in the shoulders, too. His hair was short, black, and very thick. He turned around, revealing a taut face and brown eyes that revealed absolutely nothing about him. An extra bump in his nose spoke of it being broken a time or two in the past, but otherwise, there was nothing remarkable about him at all.
Yet, he gave me the creeps.
“A grunt. Right,” I said, making it very clear I didn’t believe him.
Was that a bulge I spotted under Fred’s shoulder? It was tough to tell, the black of his clothes made it all blend even with my vision, but I was fairly positive. So, Fred was the gunman.
Why did we need a gunman?
“Why do we need this many people?” I asked. “Plenty of these jobs could be doubled up.”
Aaron shrugged. Clearly, I wasn’t winning that fight.Okay, fine. You win this round, pretty boy.
I waited for Aaron to explain what happened next, but he was looking at me. They werealllooking at me.
“Well?” Aaron prompted when I raised an eyebrow at him, giving him a face full ofwhat the fuck is going on?attitude.
“Well,what?” I asked. “Are we waiting?”
