Page 10 of Fallen Hero

I covered my laughter with a grunt because damn, the woman was quick with a comeback. Which posed a new problem. If there was one thing I found more attractive than a pretty face with great tits and ass, it was a pretty woman with a good sense of humor.

Calista Ventura had it all—great legs, tits, ass, pouty, full lips, slender, delicate neck, gorgeous eyes, beautiful face, and wit.

An octet threat.

Fuck my life.

“Okay,” Pete started, and I didn’t miss the humor wrapped around that one word. “So the real question is, why would she send that text asking for backup?”

Gone was the fake smile, and in its place was a carefully crafted mask of indifference.

“Tom and I had a disagreement about how this job should go. Atlanta sided with Tom and went behind my back to do his bidding.”

Now we were getting somewhere.

Chapter Three

I wasn’t sure who I wanted to kill first: Atlanta or Tom.

The unfortunate truth was, I was used to Tom screwing me over. Another unfortunate truth was, I needed him. Tom Washington was nothing more than a means to an end. And that end was near. It was so close I could taste it. Like that first lick of the tart cherry ice pops my mom used to make when my sister and I were kids—the flavor exploding on my tongue, sour and sweet and cool and refreshing. Something to be savored on a hot summer day.

The taste was nearly identical, but instead of sour, there was a blend of bitterness with that sweet. Bitter memories that damn near consumed me the closer I got. Bitter reminders that no one had been able to save my sister. The bitter reality that my beloved mother might still be living and breathing, but she was a ghost—totally lost to me.

The only sweet that would come from this story’s end was vengeance. But that was saccharine—fake, false, manufactured. Not that I wouldn’t take it, and glory in the punishment I planned to unleash.

Nothing would ever bring my sister back to life. Revenge wouldn’t make me miss her less nor would it erase the horrifying things that were done to her or the way she’d died. The bottom-line truth of it was, my sister was discarded like a piece of trash on the side of the road after she was brutally used and abused—and someone was going to die as penance.

And I knew who that someone was. The last thing I needed was too-hot-for-his-own-good Mason and his buddies screwing it up. I didn’t need backup. I didn’t need counsel. I didn’t need opinions. I needed to focus.

“Speaking of Tom.”

I leveled Mason with my best bland stare and waited for him to say more.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?”

That was not where I thought Mason was going. “Why?”

“Call me curious.”

“Call me uninterested in satisfying your curiosity.”

Piercing green eyes locked with mine. This was better. This was something I excelled at. This was something I could do all day. I loved a good stare down. And it would seem by Mason’s unflinching gaze, he did as well.

It took five seconds—yes, I counted—for the silence to break. However, it wasn’t Mason who broke it, it was Fallon. “Are you two really going to stand there and have a staring contest?”

Mason arched a brow. I remained still with my face carefully set to bored.

“Fuck. I hate games,” Pete muttered irately.

With my eyes still fastened on Mason, I matched Pete’s irritation when I told him, “So do I, and I hate being toyed with.”

“Good, we have that in common. Mase asked because when he called Tom—”

“You called Tom?” I asked Mason, forgetting about the stare down.

The ass smirked before he answered. “I got your text. Tried to call, your line was disconnected, so hell yeah, I called Tom. He told me not to worry and you’d probably check in with him soon.”

Meddling asshole.