“Bottles for recycling.” Ben rolled his shoulders, head tilted back to look up at Diesel. “I’m cleaning up the bar.”
“Go get Rocky,” Diesel said. “He’s going to be so mad if he finds out your tiny ass moved a bunch of heavy stuff and he didn’t get to help.”
Ben snorted, but he had started to smile. “Where is he?”
“Cleaning out the Wellness Room.” Those two had been eyeing each other since Rocky had started at McFeely’s three weeks ago. Diesel would be staying out of the Wellness Room for at least another hour.
Ben disappeared into the Wellness Room and Diesel went the opposite way, down the hall and out the side door, the same one he’d watched Reece storm out of on the security footage. He carried the box past the picnic table, light droplets falling on his hair and sweatshirt as he headed for the back of the warehouse, to their staff parking area and the dumpsters.
As he lifted the lid of one of the recycling bins and tossed the box of bottles in, somewhere behind him, a car door opened. He glanced over his shoulder to see four men approaching, an average-sized man in front in a long dark coat and three larger men in puffy camouflage coats that didn’t quite conceal the outline of their firearms.
Shit. Diesel let the lid fall as he straightened. “Can I help you?” he said, as the men approached.
“Mr. Lane,” said the man in front. He didn’t have a hat, his brown hair in disarray and his glasses sliding down his nose. His eyes were pale blue and narrowed. “You were supposed to be on your way to Vancouver by now.”
Diesel’s gaze darted over the group. He’d seen his share of rough folks over the years. People with bad intentions, people itching for a fight. But this man and his group made Diesel’s stomach twist in a new way.
Keith had mentioned powerful contacts—the kind who paid well enough that he’d bought the Hellcat. Diesel’s good fortune at winning a trip out of the blue suddenly seemed like a lot less of a lucky shot.
“Plans change,” Diesel finally said.
“Indeed they do. Sometimes people shirk their duties and vanish into the night, and other people don’t take their scheduled trips, and you’re forced to make moves sooner than expected.” The man looked over to the warehouse. “We’ve learned a lot about you, Mr. Lane. You like empaths—not just the pretend ones you work with, but the real ones. You like their compassion and their pacifism, and they like you right back. Your empath therapist at the veterans’ hospital wrote glowingly about you in her notes, and I’m sure Reece Davies would love to count you as a friend.”
The recycling bins were at his back, but broken bottles wouldn’t do Diesel much good against guns. “What is this about?”
“Your warm relationships with real empaths. It’s a hard quality to find in an ex-marine, you know.” The man nodded toward the warehouse. “Lots of people inside right now, aren’t there?” he said, too lightly.
Diesel took a breath through his nose. That hadn’t been subtle.
“Why don’t we go for a drive together?” said the man. “Unless you’d rather introduce us to your friends?”
Most people didn’t find their way to a place like McFeely’s unless life had given them a reason to crave kindness. Everyone inside had a past of their own that could be dug back up and used against them.
Diesel let out his breath. “Let’s go, then,” he said tightly.
The man with the pale eyes smiled. “I knew you were the right recruit for the job.”
Reece didn’t look back as he sprinted into the airsoft gear shop and then across the parking lot. He had found Waller’s file on him in that cabinet, and it was one thing if some wannabe kidnapper was watching Reece.
But that creep had taken pictures ofJamey and Liam.
Fury threatened to choke him; Reece shoved it down. Last night, he’d been so scared that he’d projected his emotions onto others. Fear had been bad enough, but he could not risk projecting anger, not with all these people around, not with air guns and maybe real weapons nearby.
He crossed the gravel lot, an uncomfortable combination of hot from exertion and cold from the icy wind hitting his sweaty skin. But Grayson’s truck was right in front of him and it looked like a fortress. Reece practically ran the last few steps to the truck, using the dented bumper to climb over the tailgate and into the bed. He sat on the ridged floor, bringing his knees to his chest in a tight ball, his back against the wheel well.
He breathed the cold, wet December air and willed it to cool his temper before he lit up the entire airsoft course with rage. What was he doing, pretending he could be out among normal people? Acting like a sheep when he was turning into a wolf?
He stuck his hands out in front of him, staring unseeing at the black gloves.
Waller thought he was some kind of badass. He had no idea how dangerous Jamey was—and even less idea how dangerous Reece really was. No idea the risks he was taking by messing with Reece’s family.
He reached for his right glove and tugged it off. The air was icy against his fingers, but it felt good.
Waller had thought his airsoft gloves could protect him against Reece. What a fucking idiot. The only protection anyone in Seattle had against Reece was his own willingness to stifle his abilities with the empath gloves.
What would happen to creeps like Waller if Reece decided he was done wearing them?
His phone was ringing in his pocket. Reece shook his head, thoughts slipping away. By the time he’d dug it out of his jeans pocket, it had stopped ringing.Missed call Evan Graysonit said on-screen.
