Page 14 of Wicked Devotion
Unable to keep myself from smiling, I hook my fingers into his belt loops. He lets me pull him closer until his body ispressed against mine, but we’re interrupted by a knock on my door.
“My office, five minutes,” Rockwell’s voice blares through the flimsy wood.
“Think I can make you come in five minutes?”
Logan answers by pushing me away.
“Like a bitch in heat,” he says, sighing as he adjusts his pants. As if he didn’t come to my room with the intention of railing me. “What are you waiting for? Need my help to get dressed?”
I push past him and rush to put on my clothes. Logan doesn’t like to wait, so when I trot after him to the stairwell, I’m still trying to pull my shirt all the way down.
While I’m not sure if things are back to normal between us, it still feels good that he was the one who came crawling back this time. It’s a rare phenomenon, and it has only happened once. After he shot me.Accidentally, according to him.
We’re the last ones to arrive in Rockwell’s office, the others already sitting around the small conference table. Charlie looks up from his notepad to greet me with a tired smile. He joined almost a year ago and was supposed to be a full member of our task force. With the clear objective of infiltrating, capturing, and killing, if necessary. Instead, Charlie decided to be Rockwell’s assistant, and because Rockwell has a soft spot for him, that hasn’t changed so far.
Sam smiles down at his phone, but Rockwell clears his throat before I can say something that’ll surely annoy him. Like a dad, he can smell mischief while the perfect sentence to provoke Sam is still forming in my brain.
It’s not my fault he married my female counterpart. The one time I said that out loud, he chased me over the entire training ground and slapped the back of my head so hard I’m sure he permanently dented it.
“We’ll make this quick. I have somewhere to be,” Rockwell says, sounding frustrated. “Like I already expected, Mr. Holton will stay with us a little longer. The 203 has too many men in jail. He’d be dead meat before the first lunch hour, and you can’t get intel out of a corpse. Am I right, Mr. Cabrera?”
“Mhm,” Logan mumbles, his lips pressed into a thin line.
For last year’s Secret Santa, I got him a mug that saysno pulse = no intel. He called it stupid but uses it as a penholder in his office, so he obviously loves it.
“Sam and I think he’s holding back information. Sooner or later, he’ll start talking.”
“I could…” Logan offers.
“No,” Rockwell says sternly. “General Cantrell informed me that you’re close to exceeding your limit this quarter.”
“Why am I the only one with a kill-limit?”
“Maybe ask yourself why Cantrell felt he had to give you one in the first place?” Sam laughs, and Logan crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“We want you to work for us, Mr. Cabrera,” he mumbles to himself. “Yes, killing for money.But not too much. This institution is a fucking joke.”
“Are you done?” Rockwell asks when Logan finally shuts up.
“For now.”
“Great. Max, I got your report,” our captain says with a sigh, and I sit up straight. “From my end, Mrs. Holton is good to go. Sort it out with her and apologize for the inconvenience, will you?”
Apparently, it takes me too long to react because Logan kicks my shin under the table. I answer with a polite nod, and Rockwell looks down at his watch.
“I would do it, but I have to help with the ACFT. Sanders,” he grumbles.
“Fucking bastard,” Logan says, shrugging when we all turn to stare at him. “What? Thought this office was a safe space.”
“Cabrera, Vaughn, you are dismissed,” Rockwell says, rubbing his temples. “Rvyes, Hunter, you stay; we still have to sort out some things. Regarding Mr. Holton,” he adds when I turn to look at Sam, who avoids my gaze.
Logan leaves the room before I can question this apparent secret meeting, forcing me to run after him.
“Let me guess, you did not change your mind?” he asks as we walk up the stairs.
“Nope.”
“Wonderful. Where do you plan to hide your puppy?”
