Page 35 of Slaying for Santa
Her eyes widen with fucking excitement as a smirk pulls at one corner of her lips.
“Colour me intrigued.” She gestures her head towards my open laptop. “Besides, you may need my expertise.”
Chairs scrape as the guys sit, but I can’t take my eyes off Bell’s dark orbs, and the way they glisten with anticipation.
“What expertise is that exactly?” I ask, leaving the table to close the distance between us.
“I was voted Most Likely to Become a Serial Killer, remember? You might need me.”
This time, my laugh is real but short, the dread in my gut overthrowing everything else, and Bell frowns, like she’s perplexed.
“Why aren’t you freaking out right now? Someone took Libi. Came right in and took her while we were—” She manages to stop before she says the wordfucking, her eyes darting over my shoulder to my team. “While we were sleeping.”
“Freaking out won’t get my daughter back.” My voice is flat, and I can tell by her softening eyes that she notices. “I know who took her. I just have to figure out how to get her back.”
“But what if they hurt her?” Bell’s voice cracks just enough to make the question worse, because shit, I can’t think about that.
“They probably used a sedative.” Garrick’s steady voice cuts in from behind me as he approaches, holding his hand out. “Garrick Shaw. At your service, ma’am. But you can call me Doc.”
For a long beat, Bell stares at Doc’s outstretched hand like she’s weighing up if she should shake it or chop it off before she finally accepts it.
“Bell Bishop. And if you call me ma’am again, I’ll cut your dick off.”
The room erupts in laughter as Garrick nods in defeat, not the least bit scared of Bell.
“Noted, Miss Bishop.” He bows his head, his old-style tone not matching his rough appearance.
I almost laugh at how easily she gets under everyone’s skin.
Almost.
“Right, if you’re going to stay…” I trail off, gesturing to Garrick. “Garrick is our medic. He can stitch a man up with his eyes closed and make him swear it felt like a massage.”
Doc shoots Bell a wink, and I point to the others, introducing them.
“You’ve kind of met Wes Wildcard Harlan.” I gesture to my best mate as he pushes off the counter, his sandy hair mussed and bearded grin wide.
“Best fucking sharpshooter around, darlin’.” He tips an invisible fucking hat towards her. “Nice to meet you.”
Bell simply nods, glancing the way I gesture next.
“The grumpy prick is Bruiser. Youngest of us with skills of a fucking pro.”
“I’m Kade Mercer,” he grumbles, clearly not happy about Bell being here. “Call me whatever. I don’t give a shit.”
“Okay, shit-lips. And what do you do in this little gang?” Bell waves her hand around, and Bruiser fucking growls.
“Not a fucking gang. And I break shit and blow shit up.”
Bell’s brows hitch as she nods, impressed. “Nice.”
“That’s Colt Maddox. We call him Ghost on account of his stealth-like skills.”
Colt doesn’t bother with theatrics. He slips his hands into his pockets and gives Bell a single nod.
“Man of many words,” Bell assesses, and fuck, she’s spot on. “And you?” She glances at Cipher. “Let me guess. IT expert?”
“Julian Cross.” He pronounces his name with every bit of upper-class Sydney that he was raised in, and I can tell by the way Bell’s eyes roam over his clean-cut appearance that she’s picking up the snob in him. “Tech is my specialty. I fight my wars online.”
