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He just chuckles quietly. Speaking the words was more for my benefit than his. “But a deal’s a deal. You agreed to the terms, and now you have to follow through. Despite the lack of a warm greeting, they are your team for the foreseeable future. You never know, kiddo, you might enjoy having someone to watch your back.”
I purse my lips at his last comment. I’ve never needed anyone to watch over me before, so why would I want it now? Exhaling a deep breath to calm my frayed nerves, I shift my focus to something other than my internal shit show.
It’s been a long time since I’ve used the trail we’re on—I don’t often go to the underground facility because I’m not supposed to make myself well-known—so when we pass a new home I’ve never seen previously, I say, “That one’s new, I’ve never seen it before. Who does it belong to?”
Even though Uncle T doesn’t live here, house approvals have to go through both him and Dad on both continents. I don’t mingle with the other teams, but I know where each and every one of them lives and their identities. I guess that’s why Team Basilisk threw me off, because I’d never heard of them before.
“Your new team has finally agreed to set down roots. They have been living out of a suitcase for so long, going where we needed them to, but Percy was worried about them and decided it was time they needed a foundation—somewhere for downtime, somewhere they can go and have space that belongs to them and actually be themselves. They were all starting to get a little lost from working undercover for so long. After this assignment, I don’t think they will be sent out on one for a while.”
What Uncle T isn’t saying is that they will probably have to have some mental health counseling. Undercover assignments wear on a person after a time, and trying to keep who you really are straight becomes a struggle sometimes. I see someone after every assignment. It was one of the agreements I made with Dad when I first started six years ago, and I can’t deny how much it has helped.
I scoff as he pulls up to our large two-story house, and I groan at the sight. Fuck, I had forgotten I have all those stairs to climb. Yes, I still live at home. I mean, where else am I going to live? I have no friends, it would be hard to explain to roommates where I disappear to all the time, and living on my own would just get lonely. This was the best solution, and to be honest, I like my mom and dad’s company.
Uncle T helps me through the front door, and when the door closes behind us, a whirlwind of a woman comes running with a torrent of Arabic spilling from her mouth as she chastises me, my absent dad, and Uncle T for causing her to worry. My mother gathers me up in her arms, her signature scent, which is something exotic and reminds me of the souks in Amman, wrapping around me in comfort, but I grunt as a wave of pain washes over me.
She quickly steps away, gently holds me at arm’s length, and looks me up and down as she catalogs every one of my bruises. “Why did you come home wearing that?” She turns to my uncle, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “You couldn’t be bothered to find her any clothes?”
I should have known she would pick up on my lack of clothing, so I jump in before he can defend himself. “Mama, I can’t get dressed on my own, and I wanted your help.”
Her scowl softens with my confession, and suddenly, she’s all business—mama bear business. “Of course, shazadi. Why don’t you go into the living room? Theseus can pull out the sofa bed for you there, and then you won’t have to climb the stairs. I will get you something comfortable to wear and some of your favorite macaroni and cheese.” She hurries off, muttering in Arabic about wayward children who enjoy making their mamas worry.
I shuffle slowly into the living room, and when I get there, Uncle T has already pulled out the sofa bed and is throwing pillows and blankets onto it from the little storage section. He helps me onto it, and I can’t stop the low moan of pain that leaves my mouth, but he’s a good uncle and doesn’t say anything. Smart man.
Our family is incredibly close, and Theseus and his wife Felicity were basically my surrogate parents from the age of fourteen to sixteen while I trained at his branch of MITHOS. Same as my parents were to his daughter Katherine while she was here.
“How did you get here so quickly?” I ask him as he places cushions behind my back to keep me propped up. I slowly lean back before finishing off my thought. “I wasn’t unconscious long enough for you to have flown from London.”
“I was already here for a meeting. Your father never told me what the plan was, so when they hauled you in, I didn’t even check that it was you. I thought it was real too. It wasn’t until he barreled out of the elevator and into the interrogation room that any of us knew it was fake. I’m sorry, Kenzie. I would have stopped them from beating you if I had known.”
He won’t look me in the eye as he apologizes, and my mother bustles in to hear what he had to say. Her eyes flash, and her worry is replaced with a hot, burning fury. She slams the pile of clothes down on the bed before jamming her hands onto her hips. Uncle T steps back in the face of my mother’s wrath. I smother a snort, but not quickly enough, because she turns that terrifying gaze my way.
“He didn’t tell me either,” she spits out, and I wouldn’t want to be my dad when he gets home. “Security separated us, and the last thing I saw was him being taken away in an ambulance. They hurried me to a car and drove me here, and it was only when the ambulance pulled up behind us and he climbed out that I knew the truth. He’s going to wish it was real when I finally get my hands on him.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen my mother so angry.
“You haven’t seen him?” I ask, and my uncle shakes his head, wearing a small grin on his lips, and answers before my mom can. He’s brave for showing his amusement, because she’s just as likely to take her anger out on him if he’s not careful.
“Nope, why do you think he’s dragging his heels about coming home? He knows how mad Sadie is, and he’s not looking forward to her yelling at him.”
“I also need to call my father and assure him everything is okay, otherwise he might send his royal guard on the next plane to the US.” Mom sighs her frustration. “Perseus thinks he’s so clever with his little war games and the deals he makes with you. I guess you have to join a team now.”
Uncle T turns his back to me as Mom picks up the shirt she brought from the bed. I groan at the thought of moving again, and she just waves a hand. “Stay there. I will help you.”
She peels the hospital gown down my arms, leaving me completely naked, and then she just holds out a shirt, and I slide my arms into each of the holes before she gently eases it over my head. Next, she pulls the blankets back and shimmies my legs into the pair of underwear she’s holding out. I grit my teeth so I won’t worry my mom, but as I lift my butt for her to slide them over, she doesn’t miss the grimace, nor can she miss all the bruises on my body. I see her jaw clench as she takes a breath. She starts to say something, and I know it’s going to be about how being a spy is not a proper career for a princess, so I distract her.
“Mom, whose clothes are these? Are these Dad’s?” I ask, noticing that the T-shirt and underwear belong to a man.
“Okay, Theseus, you can turn around now,” my mother tells him as she pulls my blankets up and over me. “No, we had some house guests for a few days while you were on your last mission. They left them behind, so I washed them and put them in a spare drawer. I was going to return them next time I saw them, but they are perfect for what you need—big, baggy, and comfortable.”
She’s not wrong. The boxers feel amazing, since they aren’t riding up my butt cheeks or anything, and the shirt is old and worn, but super soft against my bruised and battered skin. It also helps that it’s a cool band T-shirt. It’s got a picture of Jim Morrison on it from The Doors.
“Hey, Sadie, the timer went off on the oven, so I pulled it out and grabbed myself a bowl. I hope you don’t mind.”
My mouth drops open in shock when a familiar voice has the three of us turning toward the door. Standing there is Bad Boy Sexy, and he looks a lot less miserable than when he was at the hospital. He’s also holding a steaming bowl of what I’m assuming is my mac and cheese.
I growl, and he looks at me with derision. “Still live at home, do you? Must be nice having your mommy and daddy picking up after you.”
I gasp, speechless for probably one of the first times in my life, before all of my anger comes rushing back to me. “Seems like my mommy might be looking after you too. That’s my fucking mac and cheese,” I growl, and my mother gasps.
“Kensington!”
