Hunt started.
Layla said.
I felt a wry chuckle from Hunt travel down the line of our internal dialog.
Since we’d come back and Zoe had pushed her tongue into his mouth by way of hello, he’d been using our training as an excuse to delay the date she kept pestering him about.
As one, we looked to where she sat immediately in front of us. When we’d arrived for class, she’d lingered around us, no doubt trying to snag a seat next to her “babe.” So we’d guided Hunt toward the middle of the rest of us and occupied the entire row of seats. She’d already snuck a hundred glances at him so far this class.
I said.
Brady said.
Layla pointed out.
I glanced down the row at Layla. She didn’t usually get offended. In fact, I was often shocked at just how much didn’t seem to bother her. But Brady could get to her sometimes, and when he did, she did nothing to hide her hurt.
She merely smirked and rubbed at the tattoo that wound around her wrist.
Brady responded.
While they squabbled, my thoughts drifted again, back around to the questions I’d asked myself dozens of times already.
What if one of these times one of us doesn’t come back to life? No power can be completely foolproof, can it? Can we even risk a single other time?
And if the only real way to avoid anyone coming for us is to kill Magnum, how will we feel after we do the deed?
When I’d seen Brady broken across that pillar, the rebar puncturing his heart … when I’d heard Griffin go over the cliff to his death in a groan of crunching metal … when I’d had to watch Magnum’s soldiers kill Layla and Hunt and threaten the others …
In those moments of terror and loss and anguish and righteous rage, I would have killed Magnum, had I known he was responsible. Gutted him from neck to balls or cut off his fucking head, without hesitation.
But contemplating the act now felt more like premeditated murder than self-defense. And unlike us, we’d be ending him forever. I still couldn’t shake the sense of wrongness every time I anticipated what we’d have to do.
Why couldn’t there be a super-max prison that could actually keep filthy rich assholes like him for a lifelong sentence instead?
Something bumped my leg and I glanced down to find Griffin nudging my foot. Ms. Tott was busy listing the many noteworthy qualities of Mr. Darcy on the whiteboard up front, so I turned in my seat to really look at him.
He didn’t speak. But his eyes said what he didn’t. Their hazel was bright, his brow furrowed in evident concern for me.
I smiled my reassurance. But it didn’t look like I managed to convince him, probably because I wasn’t actually okay, and the man knew me as well as I knew myself.
My fingers twitched with the need to reach for him. My skin longed for his touch. I’d only gotten to really kiss him that one time in my bed at the institute, and now it felt like every single minute I suffered from the urge to kiss him.
I didn’t realize I was biting my lip until I felt his gaze on my mouth.
I grinned. He grinned back.
Fuck ourparents. I was going to have to have at him today after school, hidden away in the forest where the many sets of prying eyes wouldn’t follow.
“Ms. Bryson,” Ms. Tott’s voice suddenly interrupted. “Is there something more interesting going on than what I’m teaching that you’d like to share with the class?”
Brady groaned into my mind.
