“Triumph?” Who, or what, was that?
“I can’t get used to calling him M. We call him Triumph. It’s a nickname from high school. You can ask him about it sometime when you need a conversation starter.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Demon is a medic, so he’ll take care of your wound, get you ready to travel, and then they’ll get you out of there.”
“What about the guest in my bathtub?”
“Steel will take care of him. You just worry about doing what Demon tells you to do. Follow Steel’s lead, and let Triumph take care of you. All right. Hang in there. Not much longer, and this will all be over.”
“I’m not sure I can ever repay you for your help.”
“No repayment needed, G. Triumph wants to help you, so that’s good enough for us.”
Who did that? Helped a stranger who couldn’t pay them, couldn’t help them, couldn’t owe them favors because she wouldn’t have anything of value they’d need?
No one, that’s who. And in her experience, everyone always wanted something in return.
He sounded so sincere though. They all had. Was it really possible that these complete strangers truly wanted to help her? They didn’t know her, and she didn’t know them. Trust was a difficult, delicate thing, and it definitely wasn’t something she gave easily.
If she wanted a chance at surviving this, however, she needed to decide quickly whether she was going to take this leap of faith or not.
When it came down to it, was there really a choice?
It took her a moment to get past the lump in her throat and several painful swallows before she could speak. “Thank you, Tripoli.”
He seemed to understand where her head was without her saying a word. “I know this is hard, G. You’ve learned you can’t depend on anyone. I hate that for you. But Triumph believes in you, and if you have him on your side, that means you get this whole glorious, weird family he brings along with him, plus the wacky, cool cousins, as I call them—meaning Cruz and his friends—because they come attached to my Francesca. You’re no longer alone. Just keep breathing in and out, and we’ll see you soon.”
After disconnecting, Glennon fell into a light doze, woken by another ding on her phone. When she checked the number, it was M. Triumph. That name would take some getting used to.
“Hey there.”
“What is Bruce Lee’s vegetarian brother’s name?”
She groaned. “I hurt too much.”
“Brocco Lee.”
She heard an unfamiliar voice on his end of the call—male, dark, with the barest hint of an Irish lilt. “You need new material, dude.”
A warm chuckle followed. “She likes my jokes. That’s all that matters.”
“I wouldn’t say I ‘like’ them,” she corrected.
“Yeah. You like them.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “We’re outside your door. I’ve got a key card. We’re coming in.”
She disconnected as she heard the beep of the lock. In the backlight of the doorway, she saw three figures. The first two through the door were about the same height, but one was more solid and the other wiry. The third figure was considerably shorter, but even in silhouette, she could see he was all muscle.
Once the door closed behind them, someone reached for the room lights and turned them on. She squinted against the brightness, attempting to shield her eyes from the glare so she could keep an eye on them.
The man standing closest to her was dressed in an army-green button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, matching pants, and a dark-brown vest with what looked like a dozen pockets. His brown hair was shaggy, just too long to be respectable, and his eyes were a piercing blue.
“What do you call birds that all stick together?” he asked.
Whoa.Thiswas M? Triumph? Not at all what she’d pictured. He was even better, if that was possible.
She cleared her throat. “A flock.”
