Page 62 of Ravens
“They weren’t. The duke was on a phone provided by the hotel—which means the prince called him, and there would be zero reason for the prince to hide the fact that he called his uncle, so why bother with a burner?”
They all fall into discussion, and I excuse myself, going to the living room to tuck away the bed and tidy up.
Hopefully I made enough of a point that William does leave the remaining Ravens alone, although that means nothing in the grand scheme. If they haven’t figured out that they need to run by now, then the Agency will get them on their own.
Russel might be gone, but his orders will still stand, especially for his most loyal agents. Even if a new Director comes into play, they aren’t going to want to keep the Ravens alive either. We are officially collateral damage. Still, I can’t believe this whole time William was the one doing it and continued without me even knowing. York lied about it all to me the night I thought we were coming clean with each other . . .
It’s not like Iknowthe other Ravens. I’d recognize a face or two, maybe, but generally, we are just code names to one another. But how can I trust the things York says to me privately when he’s just admitted to lying to me in one of those very same situations?
“Defect.” York’s voice cuts into my thoughts.
I look up. “Excuse me?”
“Defect. You aren’t one of ours, and you certainly aren’t theirs anymore . . .” He slides his hands into his pockets. “I know you’re just protecting yourself, but if you defect . . . seek political asylum . . .”
“In Britain?” My brows shoot up. “It doesn’t mean a thing until I’m on British soil and debriefed on high.” I shake my head. “Until then, it’s just a notion.”
“Would you do it, though?”
“I’d consider it.” Something lights in his eyes, but I keep my face neutral. “I never took you for a best-case scenario type.”
“What do you mean?” That crease appears in his forehead again.
“I mean that I can’t defect if I’m dead, and they want me dead, very badly. You’re planning for a future where I’m alive, which is a pretty bigifat this point. This shit with you guys isn’t done yet. I don’t have a passport I can travel on here . . .” I furrow my brow as I put the cushions back on the couch. “Just . . . manage your expectations, all right?”
“Sure.” He nods, but it isn’t serious. There’s something mischievous in his face that makes me roll my eyes. “It’s almost done. We’re headed back to DC tomorrow night to put a bow on it.”
“What’s the plan?”
Thirty-One
August makes a surprisingly good pizza from scratch, and we enjoy a few drinks around the table as we eat. It feels less serious, less heavy.
“Did my tits break the tension in here today?” I say around a bite that scalds my tongue.
“Broke some tension for me,” August says under his breath as he drops another pizza in the middle of the table, and I smirk.
“I just think . . . we understand each other better now,” Carter says before he chugs the last of his beer. “You’re an incredibly stressful person to share a room with, Tripoli.”
“I am?” I scrunch up my nose. “I’ve always thought I was . . . chill.”
“You have no fucking chill,” August pipes up.
“You tried to stab me.” I point at him. “He shot me.” I nod at William as I take a bite. “And you”—I gesture at Carter— “almost dropped a damn tree on myhead.”
“And how many times have you pointed a loaded weapon at one of us?” Carter says, cracking another beer. “How long was that bear behind us before you reacted?”
“Longer than you think,” I mutter before taking a swig. “But I’m not psychotic, so I didn’t let it kill you. Hindsight, though? Probably should have.”
“And you’renotpsychotic?” August retorts.
“No.” I exhale. “Vindictive as hell though.”
“Whatever,” William cuts in. “Let’s lay out the game plan for tomorrow.”
“No,” York says, not meeting my eyes. “Tomorrow is tomorrow. Tonight we’re getting properly drunk and sleeping adequately.”
“Cheers to that.” Carter raises his bottle. “I’ll get the cards.”
