Page 5 of Reactant

“That has never happened,” Jericho said, raising an eyebrow. He was six foot three, not agiant, and at six feet, Six wasn’t exactly slouching in the height department either. Neither of them had ever walked into a doorframe. Not that they’d admitted to anyway.

“It could, though.”

“I could also choose to shoot you right now,” Jericho said. He stroked the trigger thoughtfully as they stared at each other. “That has merit.”

“Does it?” Six shook his head with a disappointed slant to his pursed lips. “It sounds like you’d be sad and miss me.”

Jericho put a finger to his lips as they approached the apartment door. He pressed his palm against the wall and listened carefully. There was no sound of movement coming from within. That in itself didn’t mean anything, especially if it was an ambush. It was best to be cautious, always.

Jericho gestured with his Glock for Six to go first.

“No way; I went first last time,” Six whispered.

“You didn’t.” Jericho couldn’t remember the last time since he hadn’t been home long aftermonthsaway, but it seemed unlikely. Six was more of a “sneak behind in the shadows and lop off heads” kind of guy. Jericho and Greer kicked in doors. Jericho’s brother, Hunter, was a hybrid of the two.

“I did.”

Motherfucker. Jericho held up a fist, and they did Rock, Paper, Scissors, best out of three.

Six lost.

Jericho gave him a hard, lingering slap on his cheek. “Off you go, buttercup.”

Six blew him an air kiss. He crouched low—so that if someone were waiting with a gun, there was a chance that any fired shots would fly over his head—and then used his palm to slowly push the door open.

Jericho moved in closely behind him. His gaze flitted over the body lying in the middle of the sparse living area before scouring the rest of the room in case there was anyone else still there.

Six made short work of checking the single bedroom and bathroom.

They were alone except for the body.

Jericho let out a breath and holstered his gun.

Six gestured at the blood painting the wall and furniture. “It’s not how I would have decorated, but each to their own.”

Jericho crouched beside the body, frowning as he studied the wounds on George’s neck. The hit was clean. He might have been impressed if he wasn’t so pissed off.

“Knew what they were doing,” Six said, looking over Jericho’s shoulder.

“Yeah. Hit the carotid; he would have bled out in seconds.” Jericho massaged his forehead and ran a hand across the top of his head, tugging on his dark ponytail with a growl. “Fuck me.”

“Guess what he had to say was important?” Six said.

“Yeah.” Fuckingfuck. “There’s a pack of gloves in the kitchen, top drawer. Get me one?” Jericho asked.

Hunter’s pet lawyer, Sebastian Devlin, and one of Sebastian’s boyfriends—Peyton Sinclair—had killed Dane and Errol, the two men who had run the half-assed organisation that Jericho had been infiltrating. The organisation had appeared out of nowhere six months ago with a setup that had suggested competency. Hunter had thought that warranted their involvement. It hadn’t taken Jericho long to learn that “competent” wasn’t the right word at all. Considering the sophistication of the operation—and confirmation that his brother hadn’t just been fucking with him—he’d dug deeper; the money and resources at their fingertips had to have come from somewhere. The only way to get rid of a weed properly was to poison the roots, not the top.

George had been an occasional drug runner for them but not someone on the “inside.” So what had he been wanting to tell Jericho? What information did he have that had been worth killing him over?

“Here,” Six said, dropping the gloves on Jericho’s shoulder. Jericho grabbed them before they slipped down his chest and slipped one of them on.

He pressed his palm against George’s cheek. “He’s still warm.”

“We didn’t see anyone leaving, but when we get back to HQ, we can check the camera footage we set up.”

Based on the expert kill, he doubted they’d find anything, but it was worth looking so they could eliminate it.

Jericho poked around George’s pockets. Phone. Wallet. Keys. Nothing remotely interesting.

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